


these hands

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon Related, Gen, Marvel Team-Up #32, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: Following a dramatic night of demonic possession and strangulation, Johnny and Wyatt head back to Wyatt's home.
Relationships: johnny storm & wyatt wingfoot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	these hands

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the events of Marvel Team-Up #32 in which Wyatt is possessed by a demon (as are the other tribe members) and strangles Johnny. Johnny flames on in self-defense. Like ten minutes later Daimon Hellstrom ALSO strangles Johnny so you can bet he's gonna have some nasty bruises...

The night grew quiet, as everyone returned to their homes... Johnny turned his face up to the sky a moment, briefly closing his eyes to draw in a breath. Stabilizing, fortifying. He'd used a lot of energy tonight. A lot of light. A lot of fire.

Wyatt murmured something to his grandfather—a quick question, and then he was touching Johnny's elbow.

"You're staying over, aren't you?"

Johnny grinned up at the stars—there were so many more here, compared to Manhattan. He turned his beaming smile on Wyatt and said, slightly hoarse, "If it's not too much trouble."

The smile was only partially fake. A reassurance for Wyatt's worrying tendencies, a mask for Johnny's exhaustion, but also a genuine warmth for one of the few people in the world who not just tolerated but enjoyed his presence.

Wyatt nodded, with a quiet, "Come on," and went on ahead, past the destroyed building he'd broken through while possessed. The clean white siding, all busted, scattered on the ground. His jaw tightened slightly as they skirted past the destruction, moving around toward the house it belonged to. Johnny pretended not to notice.

It was quiet, as they headed up the front steps. A few lights on, the blurry silhouette of Wyatt's grandfather through the curtains. Wyatt shut the door quietly behind him, his expression inscrutable. A little drawn, worrying over something in his mind that Johnny couldn't read as he took off his shoes by the door. As he kept his hands close to himself. He left Johnny in the front hallway with a soft touch, to slip over to the living room.

"Silent Fox—" Wyatt hesitated. "Grandfather."

Johnny ducked his head, trying not to eavesdrop as he crouched to remove the yellow boots of his uniform.

"Yes, son?"

"I wanted to apologize for destroying your shed." Wyatt seemed to move further into the living room, his voice dropping so that Johnny could only make out the low tones through the wall.

His grandpa didn't seem angry, though, and when Wyatt reappeared in the doorway he seemed calmer, more at ease. Johnny tilted his head, curious, and Wyatt just gave him a slightly crooked, quiet smile. He nodded toward the stairs.

"My room is up here."

His room was simple. Not Spartan, but neat, with a tightly packed bookshelf between his bed and desk. The king sized bed took up a lot of space, with its tasteful blue-gray sheets and striped pillows, but there was room enough for a sleek stainless steel floor lamp, which he turned on with a slight wince.

"You okay?" Johnny spun his office chair away from his desk to flop down in it. Lots of room, nicely padded—his feet barely touched the floor.

Wyatt pursed his lips, eyes downcast as he sat on his bed. He folded his hands against his stomach, like he was trying to hide them.

"I'm fine."

Johnny licked his lips.

"Can I see...?" His voice sounded scratchy, to himself. The imprints left by fingers on his throat, sore and strange-feeling.

Wyatt met his eyes, and for a moment it seemed like he might say "no," insist that he was fine. Not to worry about him. But he nodded, with a barely audible, "Yes."

Johnny slipped out of the desk chair and moved over to his friend, holding his own hands out. Reluctantly, Wyatt unfolded his hands from where they lay against the white fabric of his t-shirt and let Johnny take them, expression tight and closed-off.

Careful, Johnny turned Wyatt's hands so his palms faced up, noting the slight way his breath briefly sharpened and then steadied.

"I burned you..." Johnny inspected his palms. Angry red, blistering. He pressed his thumb gently against the heel of Wyatt's palm, the skin blanching under pressure—Wyatt inhaled sharply.

Johnny had done that to him.

Pure reflex, adrenaline, fear.

He tried so hard to be safe, to protect others from his existence, but over and over again he just proved that he couldn't.

"I'm sorry."

Wyatt shook his head. "No." He shifted, pulling his hands free from Johnny's loose grip so he could reach up.

Hesitated.

Johnny didn't know what he intended to do, exactly, but he trusted him—so when Wyatt traced his fingertip over the line of his adam's apple, he just tilted his chin up a little.

"I've never... _never_ felt that kind of anger..." Wyatt's voice was low, and soft. He took great care in curling his fingers around the back of Johnny's neck, thumbs brushing the tender skin of his throat though he didn't tighten his fingers. Just a broad loop around Johnny's neck. "I've never felt so helpless. Never felt so trapped."

Johnny reached up to grasp Wyatt's wrists. Nervous but not afraid.

Wyatt pulled his hands away from Johnny's neck, settling the backs on Johnny's shoulders, palms upward.

"You must have been terrified." Johnny bowed his head, thumbs against Wyatt's pulse until Wyatt lifted his hands to Johnny's face.

"And what about you?" Wyatt brushed the backs of his knuckles up Johnny's jawline, cheekbones. Fingers loosely curled. "I could have killed you."

Johnny shook his head and moved to sit beside Wyatt on his bed, shoulder-to-shoulder. He smiled just a little bit and said, "It wasn't you."

As reassuring as possible, with his scratchy, weak voice.

"It was my body. My hands."

Wyatt looked so earnest, so regretful.

"I felt how fragile you were. It would have been so simple for these hands to break you."

Once again, he had folded them close to himself. Fingers trembling slightly, his shoulders tense and his chin down, staring at his knees all muddied and singed. Johnny leaned into his side and sent out his own warmth to soothe him, while drawing away any traces that might have lingered in his burns—though by this point it was mostly past those early stages, firmly settled into his skin.

Wyatt let out a slow sigh, probably barely even aware of it though he turned against Johnny like a sunflower to the sky. Not fully, just this little shift of his shoulders, his knees, subconsciously searching for the source of this new comfort.

Johnny leaned his head on Wyatt's shoulder with a small smile.

"How bad does it hurt?"

He didn't get an answer right away.

But after a moment, halting, Wyatt said, "Pretty bad."

Johnny made a soft little noise in the back of his throat and reached for his hands again. Just to put his palm against the backs—Wyatt's hands were so much bigger than his, but even Johnny's slight touch seemed to steady him.

"I'm so sorry..." Johnny ran his thumb along a patch of undamaged skin. "I'm sorry."

Wyatt shifted further—he wrapped his arm around Johnny's back, holding his hand stiff and unnatural to move it as little as possible. But still, he held Johnny close to his side and pressed his nose into Johnny's hair with a deep breath.

All the adrenaline of the night had finally receded, now that they were alone and had time to wind down, and now they both clung to each other, a little shaken. What a night, frightening and intense. But they were both okay despite their injuries. A few weeks and they'd be fine.

"So..." Johnny cleared his throat. "Who's sleeping on the floor?"

A quiet laugh punched itself from Wyatt's chest, a tickling exhale against Johnny's hair, and he wrapped Johnny up in both of his arms, squeezing tight.

Johnny smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> cue awkward scene five minutes later where johnny has to help wyatt take off his pants cause it hurts too much to undo the button. 
> 
> for all your slightly upsetting comic page needs: 
> 
> If you're wondering about grandpa's house, which I'm sure just EVERYONE is, my approach to this is that wyatt's grandparents split a while ago and live in different towns—grandma in Tulsa with rain, and that's where Wyatt spent the majority of his time growing up; and grandpa in Lawton to be closer to the tribal headquarters, with an extra room that Wyatt and/or his sister would stay in when he visited, and which in this fic is where he's living.


End file.
